Read Online Adrian's Undead Diary (Book 5): Wrath by Chris Philbrook - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Philbrook
Tags: Zombies
Ads: Link
Gavin sprinted out to be by her side, and luckily, it didn’t escalate. It could’ve gotten really fucking ugly. Abby and Gavin escorted him to the stone benches near the school building, and I went out to talk to him.
First, I ripped his brand new asshole three times larger, and like a goddamn pro, he took his tongue lashing. He knew what he did was stupid, reckless, and had as good a chance to get his ass shot as it did to get our attention. Fucking moron. And to top it all off, he said he knew about the safe house, and the radio inside, and didn’t think to radio us using it. Fucking kids.
Blake admitted when I asked him that he knew we were here all along. He said he’s come up twice and checked out the campus, but not since we had started talking to him. He thought for the longest time it was just me up here, and he felt no need to mess with me. Of course now I wonder how many times he’s observed me moving around up here through the scope on that fat ass Enfield? Mr. Journal, on the record, I’d like to say that it took a concentrated effort on my behalf to not draw my pistol, and blow his fucking brains out right there on that stone bench. I felt almost as betrayed as when I confronted Gilbert outside Hall A. I didn’t do anything today just like I didn’t do anything back then. Maybe I could identify with Blake as much as I identified with Gilbert.
So the million motherfucking dollar question is what the hell was so messed up that Blake risked eating a bullet to come up here for? Blake found himself a digital camera and some batteries, and took it to the farm to document what he’s been seeing. Specifically, what he saw yesterday afternoon. (Don’t even get me started on the fact that we had just found a frigging camera for him on our own)
Blake handed me his camera and started to ramble on and on about what was on there, essentially narrating what I was looking at. Describing him as being “agitated” would be very fair. It doesn’t take a homicide detective to see that he is more invested in the farm and what goes on there than would be normal. It was obvious to me and to the others that he was tied to this place somehow, and he was holding out on the full truth.
So the pictures. It explained a lot of the tension he was feeling. Blake’s vantage point was from the top of a small rise, and was about two or three hundred yards through light forest from the farm’s gate. It was just as he described. Steel fencing for the cattle, reinforced with lumber here and there at weak spots. Large farmhouse, barn, farm stand converted into secure trading house on the side of the road. I mean his description from before was perfect.
The pictures that were troubling were of the people. He had taken snapshots over the course of the day of 5 men and women armed with AR variants. I couldn’t tell in the pictures, but they could’ve been M4’s too. It’s hard to tell at a distance, especially with a bad camera shot.
There were three other people, two of them old, who he said were the two owners of the farm. Apparently they were the husband and wife who ran the farm stand there, and sold the homemade ice cream back in the day. The third adult was their son, who looked about my age or a little younger, and didn’t seem as martially proficient as the folks hefting the AR’s. He had a rifle, but it was slung on his shoulder barrel up, and just from his posture I felt like he wasn’t too much of a threat.
All that was fine and dandy. What bothered me (and him, obviously) were the six women who came outside in the late afternoon.
All six women were between the ages of 16 and 35, and to a one, they were all pregnant. If I could tell that they were pregnant then that tells you they were showing, which means they were at least 4 months pregnant or better. When the girls came outside they were escorted by two of the armed guard folks. They were taken to a few picnic style tables near the house, they had
First, I ripped his brand new asshole three times larger, and like a goddamn pro, he took his tongue lashing. He knew what he did was stupid, reckless, and had as good a chance to get his ass shot as it did to get our attention. Fucking moron. And to top it all off, he said he knew about the safe house, and the radio inside, and didn’t think to radio us using it. Fucking kids.
Blake admitted when I asked him that he knew we were here all along. He said he’s come up twice and checked out the campus, but not since we had started talking to him. He thought for the longest time it was just me up here, and he felt no need to mess with me. Of course now I wonder how many times he’s observed me moving around up here through the scope on that fat ass Enfield? Mr. Journal, on the record, I’d like to say that it took a concentrated effort on my behalf to not draw my pistol, and blow his fucking brains out right there on that stone bench. I felt almost as betrayed as when I confronted Gilbert outside Hall A. I didn’t do anything today just like I didn’t do anything back then. Maybe I could identify with Blake as much as I identified with Gilbert.
So the million motherfucking dollar question is what the hell was so messed up that Blake risked eating a bullet to come up here for? Blake found himself a digital camera and some batteries, and took it to the farm to document what he’s been seeing. Specifically, what he saw yesterday afternoon. (Don’t even get me started on the fact that we had just found a frigging camera for him on our own)
Blake handed me his camera and started to ramble on and on about what was on there, essentially narrating what I was looking at. Describing him as being “agitated” would be very fair. It doesn’t take a homicide detective to see that he is more invested in the farm and what goes on there than would be normal. It was obvious to me and to the others that he was tied to this place somehow, and he was holding out on the full truth.
So the pictures. It explained a lot of the tension he was feeling. Blake’s vantage point was from the top of a small rise, and was about two or three hundred yards through light forest from the farm’s gate. It was just as he described. Steel fencing for the cattle, reinforced with lumber here and there at weak spots. Large farmhouse, barn, farm stand converted into secure trading house on the side of the road. I mean his description from before was perfect.
The pictures that were troubling were of the people. He had taken snapshots over the course of the day of 5 men and women armed with AR variants. I couldn’t tell in the pictures, but they could’ve been M4’s too. It’s hard to tell at a distance, especially with a bad camera shot.
There were three other people, two of them old, who he said were the two owners of the farm. Apparently they were the husband and wife who ran the farm stand there, and sold the homemade ice cream back in the day. The third adult was their son, who looked about my age or a little younger, and didn’t seem as martially proficient as the folks hefting the AR’s. He had a rifle, but it was slung on his shoulder barrel up, and just from his posture I felt like he wasn’t too much of a threat.
All that was fine and dandy. What bothered me (and him, obviously) were the six women who came outside in the late afternoon.
All six women were between the ages of 16 and 35, and to a one, they were all pregnant. If I could tell that they were pregnant then that tells you they were showing, which means they were at least 4 months pregnant or better. When the girls came outside they were escorted by two of the armed guard folks. They were taken to a few picnic style tables near the house, they had
Similar Books
